


Love is Blind

by doggosbork



Category: Mr. Skeffington (1944)
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/M, Fluff, Holocaust, Old Age, Vanity, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 17:57:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15868782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doggosbork/pseuds/doggosbork
Summary: Mr. Skeffington is a great movie, but I was a little dissatisfied with the ending. I think it would have been so much more effective for Job to see Fanny's age and still love her... so I wrote it! I didn't want to erase Job's injuries from the concentration camps either, so I changed the story a little in that respect as well. The very beginning of this fic is straight from the movie with some of my interpretations of what Fanny might have been thinking. This is just a short little what-if, so I hope you enjoy!





	Love is Blind

“No. No, he only loved what I looked like. Not me at all,” Fanny said defiantly, turning away from her cousin. She still couldn’t believe he had the _nerve_ to bring Job to _her_ house. And then he suggests she go talk to him and give him money! Yes, it was true he had been generous with her before, but… How was she supposed to look him in the eyes after all these years?

“You know that isn't true!” George protested.

Fanny turned around quickly and looked at him for a moment. “George, do you think I'm mentally deficient?” she asked. “I've seen the others; they all loved me too. But when they took one look at me, they all recoiled! Every single one of them. And I'm not going to add Job to them.” Her voice was cracking slightly, and she turned around again so that George wouldn’t see the pain in her face. She didn’t want to see the disgust she imagined in his face, either. “Now despise me. You didn't know what a really vain creature you've been fond of all these years.”

“Listen to me, Fanny,” George started gently. “Ever since I've known you, you've thought only of yourself. You never loved anyone but yourself. You spent your life in front of a mirror, unaware of the people around you or the world you live in.”

Fanny wanted to protest, but she didn’t dare, especially because George started to become impassioned with his speech as he moved closer behind her. “Here's a chance for you to do something for someone else! There are a lot worse things in this world than losing one's beauty.” He suddenly clasped Fanny’s arms. “Go down and see him. You won't regret it. Go down and face him.”

Fanny closed her eyes tight. She imagined the horror of seeing him again, the horror of his total rejection of her appearance. But she also remembered what that one rude psychoanalyst said. Fanny had technically been seeing Job for years since he had left; maybe she _did_ need to see him in person. Maybe he needed to see her. Did that matter to her?

“I’ll go down,” Fanny finally said. She didn’t move to the door right away, but George gently pushed her along. When she was out the door, she looked down the stairs into the parlor, expecting to see Job waiting for her. But he wasn’t in sight.

Slowly, Fanny started down the long staircase. She was used to taking the steps more slowly these days, but she felt even more exhausted in her movements now. She continued to contemplate seeing Job; it was bound to be dreadful. Towards the bottom of the steps, in a small fit of anxiety and uncertainty, she turned to go back to her room. But George looked expectantly down at her. Fanny knew that, at this point, she had no choice. She had to see Job.

At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped for only a second before walking hesitantly towards the large wooden doors to the adjoining room. Peering in, she saw the silhouette of a short figure sitting in the armchair in front of the window. There he was. Job.

In the dark light, Fanny could still tell that he looked remarkably old. His once black hair was now completely white, and the skin of his face was covered in wrinkles. She was aware that as soon as she stepped into the light of the window, Job would be able to see her wrinkles too. What choice did she have?

“Job,” Fanny said gently as she walked into the room, into the bright light of the window. He looked up at her, startled at first. Then he smiled.

“Fanny,” he said in almost a whisper. She expected him to get up to greet her, but Job continued to sit in the armchair, clasping his cane tightly. The cane was surprisingly simple for Job; he must have _really_ fallen on hard times.

“Won’t you get up and greet an old friend?” Franny smiled with a pretend warmth as she stretched out her hand for Job to come kiss. However, he hesitated for a moment. When he started to get out of the chair, slowly and with effort, Fanny could see that something was wrong. Job started to walk slowly towards her, leaning heavily on his cane. He wasn’t moving his right leg at all.

“Oh, Job!” Fanny said, horrified. She ran up to him to try and help support him. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“It’s alright, Fanny,” Job said, putting his hand up to stop her. She stopped close to him, and the two looked each other in the eyes for the first time in years. Job’s once-twinkling, puppy-dog eyes were dull with damage, but Fanny could still detect the soundless laugh in them.

“They… they did this to you,” Fanny said, looking down at his leg. Where there should have been flesh and bone covered by the fabric of Job’s pants, there was nothing. The pant hung loosely below the knee. How had she not noticed when she first walked in? As Job nodded slowly, Fanny realized what had just happened. For the first time in her life, she genuinely cared about Job. She cared about him more than she had cared about anyone else. How could the Nazis do this to him? Worse, how could she have let him move into war-torn Germany after the divorce?

“They did a lot of things to me and… others like me,” Job said quietly. Fanny looked up at him again and could still see the deep damage and sadness there. “They took everything.”

“I know, I…” Fanny trailed off. She was suddenly self-conscious again. “Oh, Job, how can I help you when I…” she couldn’t finish her sentence. It was too conceited after all Job had been through. But that had been her life up to now, and he was use to it.

“Look at me,” Job said. She already was, but she knew what he meant. She took in the wrinkles, the white, thinning hair, the withered physique… the age. He looked like her. “Do you remember what I told you? All those years ago?”

Of course Fanny remembered. It had haunted her for years. “A woman is beautiful when she’s loved,” she said.

“You always worried about being beautiful,” Job said. He didn’t smirk, but Fanny once again picked up on the hidden laugh. “You always have been beautiful. Even now.”

“How could you say that when I’ve been so alone?” Fanny said desperately. “Since you left, everyone else left too!”

“I wasn’t the one who wanted to leave,” Job reminded her, cocking his eyebrow. Fanny looked down, away from his eyes. “Just because I left doesn’t mean I stopped loving you. And that means you never stopped being beautiful.”

After all the years of pure vanity, Fanny finally started to grasp what Job meant. Not all at once, but slowly, she started to realize how important it was that Job had loved her. And now she needed to be there for him, possibly even love him.

“You didn’t just come here to tell me I’m beautiful, did you?” Fanny said, looking up and beating her eyelashes at him with a coy smile.

“Well, no,” Job said. “But I had nowhere else to go. You know my family-”

“I know,” Fanny said. She gently took his arm and started to lead him out of the room. “You _must_ have lunch with me. And maybe even dinner… and breakfast.” Fanny looked up at Job with a gentle smile; he was already looking down at her with his own smile, the biggest one he had shown her since their daughter was born. She could even see tears starting to form in his eyes. None of the other men had looked at her like that before. “Manby,” Fanny shouted, “would you call Janie Clarkson and tell her I can't possibly see her for lunch today?”

This was everything Job had wanted for the last twenty years.


End file.
